Two poems by Gordon Jarvie (see TAC62, p12), "alluding to the unpredictable weather experienced by hillwalkers (and others) this year"...
Whatever is it with the lizard?
A frog, a hare, a deer is no slouch
at getting out of the road if danger beckons,
but lizards are the gold-medal winners
of evasion and rapid transit.
Away they dart, a flash in the grass,
almost faster than light. Well,
almost faster than my eyesight.
What is it about lizards?
Do they so detest my aftershave?
Or is it that after their six-month hibernation
the sense of sun soaking into damp skin
has them so fired up
as they bask on slabs of rocky schist
that all signs of sluggishness are sloughed off
by these glimmers of greased lightning in Glendessary?
Lizards in Ischia or in the Pyrenees?
Fair enough. But lizards in Knoydart?
And another thing - whence come
all these whirring dragonflies?
Are they eating the myriad midges?
And what feeds on the dragonflies?
Food for thought, food for lizards.
Returning her precious and fabulous key
to the lady who keeps the gate
of the private road into Strathfarrar
I try in vain to describe to her
the kind of day it has been for me:
the climb into misted mountains,
the crossing of a gently raging stream,
the wet and windy ridge walk,
compass readings deftly corrected
among cold and clammy clouds,
giving way to sunshine and long views.
All this and more in company
I do not choose to lose
for any length of time...
So I merely say to her, "Madam,
has anyone told you that in your hand
you hold a key to enchantment?"
6 June 2004
from Mick Harney on a similar theme...
Scottish summer game.
Thunder plays tag in mountains.
Climbers hide in woods.
TAC 63 Index